


The Bird's Wings

by menothing



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Arrogant Altaïr, F/M, Sexual Tension, any kind of tension, we're talking about Altaïr here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menothing/pseuds/menothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your average girl that comes from the future. She's a descendant of Malik and meant to help Altaïr through his journey. I wanted to read a story where Altaïr's finally paired with a girl, so I wrote one myself. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cousin?

She made herself present in the Assassin’s bureau behind the counter, her body poorly covered by the sleep clothes she had put on earlier that night. “Malik, food’s on the tab- _oh_.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to enter the bureau's main room without checking first. With a side look, she could see Malik red with rage, but what really caught her eye was the white hooded figure standing in front of her, heavily armed. She knew who he was. Everybody knew who he was.

“Stella! Go inside, NOW!” Malik shouted, and she turned just to let him see her rolling her eyes. The pretentious laugh of Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad was heard, before he said “I didn’t know you brought your whores home, Malik.”

Stella scowled at him. “Seeing whores in the bureau? Jeez, somebody’s desperate,” she said. Altaïr snorted and Malik couldn’t hold his laugh. Quick as ever, a click was  _almost_  not heard and the assassin’s hidden blade was in sight.

“Don’t” was Malik’s only warning.

“Why not?” Altaïr asked stubbornly.

“I do not know. Perhaps because we have a creed to obey? Something like _staying your blade from the flesh of innocents_?” Malik replied, and the other assassin ignored him, still glaring at the girl. “Right… I forgot you do not care about it. Either way, she’s under my protection, Altaïr. You will not harm her.”

“It’s ok,” the woman finally said. “You know he’s not going to kill me, cousin.”

“ _Cousin_?” Altaïr said. When she spoke, he looked at her, and it was hard not to stare at the strange piece of cloth wrapped around her torso, with the apparent purpose of hiding her breasts.

“More-or-less” she giggled.

“Malik, would you care to fucking  _explain_ -”

“No, he doesn't. Now shut up.” She said, her voice _demanding_. He didn’t know anything about the girl, except she easily annoyed him. “I can’t explain why I’m here but basically if you kill me you’re fucked and if you’re fucked the world will be fucked. So listen to what I say and be the obedient novice you’re supposed to be.” When she finished talking her smirk was so infuriating Altaïr’s face was red. 

* * *

Lying on the cushions of his room in the Assassin’s bureau, Altaïr’s torso was naked. His very-big-and-strong arms were strangling a poor cushion and almost ripping it apart while he slept. Stella sighed, but she was determined; do _not_  think about the assassin’s muscles while trying to wake him up. “Altaïr,” she called, touching his arm slightly.

On one moment she was in her knees by his side while he slept. On the other she was pinned down by his whole body; both her fists locked in an iron grip above her head. Her chest rose quickly at the new found difficulty to breathe, and looking down she saw his other hand, the one with the missing finger _and_ the lethal blade, hovering dangerously above her breasts.

She blushed because she was so easily overpowered by his strength, but also because of the bulge that was pressed against her thigh. While still embarrassed, the smirk on her lips indicated that she knew pretty damn well what was going on in Altaïr’s head.

It was indeed an  _awesome_  situation for a morning hard on.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said, despite his state.

“Malik asked me to wake you up. I didn’t know it would be so… dangerous,” she replied, “I’ll come prepared next time. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She tried to get up. He held her in place.

“I shouldn't. I should execute you before you can cause me any more trouble.” His threat sounded powerless when followed by a laugh.

“Oh, Altaïr,” she mocked, “I’m glad now we both know that killing me  _isn’t_  the first thought you have when I’m close.” Malik’s own laugh was heard despite him being in the other room. Altaïr growled, finally freeing the girl from his grip.

 

A week had passed since she first landed out of nowhere in the assassin’s bureau. She was still in awe for succeeding at the impossible task of convincing Malik of something like “Hey, I’m family. From the year 2015. I don’t know how I know this but I’m supposed to help you” She kept cursing herself in silence for being so stupid. He was going to kill her.

Turns out he didn’t. Actually, he kept her quite close while she told him stories about her time.

Stella told Malik about how her mother was an assassin and that, before being murdered, she taught Stella some tricks about blending in and staying silent while walking around. With a sigh, Stella told Malik that, unfortunately, she never learned how to fight. “We can change that.” He replied, making her smile.

 

“How are you not scared?” He asked her a couple of days after her arrival. She looked like she accepted her fate - a very strange one, he might add - with so much strenght. 

“Well, I can look at it in different ways. Yes, it's a fact that I am in a time and place I know very little of. But... I’m with the assassins. I’m under the protection of my ancestor, the great Malik Al-Sayf, who stood up for what was right even though his world seemed to be ending.” She answered, standing proudly by his side with a smile on her lips, while he showed her how to operate those ancient and very very complicated kitchen utensils. She missed her microwave. “Of course being optimistic it’s not 100% effective. I’m scared as fuck.”

“Great Malik Al-Sayf?” he pretty much laughed at her face, “You talk about things I do not understand.”

“I dreamed about this, about my purpose here. I talk about things that are yet to come,” Stella said, staring at nothing in particular “but things that still can be changed.” She then turned quickly to face Malik, startling him. “Which is why I’m here. Malik! Things in my time are chaotic. My mother was one of the _last_ assassins in the whole world. I’m here to help you save and spread the creed.”

“Stella, what are you talking about? Save? What exactly is threatening to end our creed?”

“You’re asking me? All I know is from my dreams and _memories of the future_. If that's not terrifying enough, I've never even performed a leap of faith. ” She looked at his eyes in desperation. “Malik, I’m not even a novice yet.”

A noise was heard and Malik knew they were not alone. Earlier that week, he had received a letter fro the bureau in Acre, thus knowing who just dropped from the ceiling next to the fountain in the guest chamber.

He took a deep breath before heading out the kitchen. Problems were showing up at his home _way_ too quickly. “ _Fuck_.”


	2. Starting

She supposed it was a good thing to be able to hide her emotions. Or to ignore them. But when Malik told her all that Altaïr had done in Solomon’s Temple just because he was a cocky son of a bitch, she was determined to give him a hard time.

“I want to start training.” Stella said as soon as she and Malik were alone in the bureau. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to carefully watch her face. “Please, Malik. I need to be able to defend myself. Train me.”

Malik only nodded, but it was enough for a grin to appear on her lips. He didn’t ask if it was because of the encounter with Altaïr. He didn’t need to.

To put it simple, her arms lacked the strength to carry on with a training set for _beginners_. She wasn’t even sweaty yet, just plain breathless and feeling ashamed. “This is not working,” Malik said to a Stella lying down in the ground.

“No shit.”

Malik stared at her like a disappointed father because he was _definitely_ going to need some time to get used to a woman having such a sharp tongue. “Maybe we should start with general exercises to improve your stamina”

“Right. I can do that.” She was up on her feet feeling so determined to be stronger, her hand was already tingling to the sight of punching Altaïr’s face.

 

 Her willpower made Malik smile. He had explained (twice, just to be sure) the exercises to her and she was repeating them like a bitch in the backyard throughout the whole morning.

When she was clean and decent, Malik taught her a little about his work as the Dai as well as a cartographer, or at least about the parts to which she was a potential helper. Complaining about having an assistant never crossed his mind. “I’ll send word to Al Mualim that you'll be staying at the bureau." He warned.

She nodded, uncertain. "Just make sure he accepts it. Please.”

They heard a grunt coming from the room that had the rooftop entrance when Altaïr jumped down without restraint. He was probably furious. Stella put on her best bitch-smile to greet him, because she could.

It was suddenly hard to maintain the posture at the sight of him painting and wearing his best death glare, so she mentally cursed the world for his hotness. Not liking him would be so much easier if he was less attractive. This guy was responsible for the death of Malik's brother, for Christ’s sake.

“I see you’re not gone yet.” Altaïr said when he saw her.

“I see you’re still a pleasant person to be around.” She answered, a smart glow on her eyes.

Altaïr’s mere reply was a groan. “Malik.” He then called.

“Come to waste more of my time?”

“I’ve found Talal. I’m ready.”

“That’s for me to decide!” Malik said louder. Stella shrank herself, remaining silent. Interfering wouldn’t be good for anyone. She noticed Altaïr did the same – perhaps he wasn’t in the mood for playing cocky son of a bitch anymore.

“Very well. Here's what I know - he traffics in human lives, kidnapping Jerusalem's citizens and selling them into slavery. His base is a warehouse located inside the barbican, north of here.” Altair sighed. “He’s preparing a caravan for travel. He leaves Jerusalem tomorrow, and I’ll strike when he’s inspecting his stock. If I can avoid his men, Talal himself should prove little challenge.”

“Little challenge?” Malik mocked. Who could even blame him? “Listen to you! Such arrogance.”

“Are we finished?” Altaïr asked, in urge to get out of there. “Are you satisfied with what I’ve learned?”

“No. But it will have to do.” Malik stated. He gave Stella a quick look as if to remind himself she was there. Then he sighed, trying to calm himself down. “Rest, prepare, cry in the corner. Do whatever it is you do before a mission. Only make sure you do it quietly.”

Altaïr retreated himself to the bathroom, in the back of the bureau. Stella glared at Malik. “Don’t tell me I need to be more reasonable with him. I don’t want to hear that right now.” She smiled. Malik seemed to always be one step ahead of his own feelings.

“Eh. He’s a bitch.” She said before turning around and catching a book on the shelf, and Malik chuckled in amusement.

* * *

 

Altaïr abruptly stopped at the door to the guest chamber as soon as he saw her sitting in one of the pillows on the ground, a book on her hands. She seemed quite intrigued, as if she was interested in learning whatever the cartography guide could be teaching her. "What are you doing here?" he asked, annoyed.

She looked up to him. He had a towel in his shoulder, and his weapons weren't with him (except for the hidden blade), but he looked exactly like the other day when they met. "I-" Stella started. Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat before continuing. "I was wondering if... If you could tell me what happened at Solomon's Temple."

Altaïr snorted. "I'm sure Malik already filled you in with the details." he said, entering the room and already setting the pillows on the ground to make a bed close to the wall on the right. “Get out."

"You're right, he did. But I wanted to see things through your eyes." He glanced at her quickly "I-I mean. I want to hear your point of view."

That startled him a little. She did claim that she was from the future, but he had never seen people take their time to care about another point of view of the same story. This girl was confusing. Thus he kept staring at her as if she was crazy. "No." he said after slowly blinking. "Get out."

"Altaïr-"

"I said no. Your wish for a bedtime story is not of my concern." She got on her feet quickly, looking hurt. She hated that uninterested look on his face.

"Forget it." She said, grabbing her book and storming out of the chamber. Great, he offended her.

Altaïr sighed. _Why couldn’t he be nice to the girl?_ He wondered. But he quickly ignored whatever thought he had about her; he needed to sleep.

* * *

 

The sky was still very dark when she was woken up by a noise; Stella definitely didn't understand what was the problem with medieval people so they had to rise so early in the morn- night. It was still night.

She encountered Altaïr in the kitchen, making his breakfast. When he looked at her, she could swear his beautiful golden eyes were shining. Plus, he was half naked again. _Oh no_ , she thought. It was a very bad idea to be aware of this.

Her first logical reaction was to turn around as quickly as she could and go back to bed. She wasn't ready to deal with Altaïr. Come to think of it, she was never ready to deal with Altaïr.

“Stella, wait." He said before she could reach her room. "I need to talk to you, the way I acted last night wasn't appropriate."

" _Appropriate_?” she laughed. He was a prick. “Leave me alone. I don't care anymore" Stella barely opened her mouth to answer him, already on her back.

Altaïr blinked at the girl stupidly trying to walk away from him. Didn't care? Then why did she bother to come to his room to talk to him? Either way, he let her go. He still had a job to do; Talal’s life still needed to be ended.


	3. Confused

The girl hated going to sleep, even when she was exhausted. She was furious just thinking of all the people who had the ability of falling asleep within three minutes in bed. No, of course she wasn't born with that luck, she always had plenty of time to think about her life whenever she wanted to sleep. And in the current situation, thinking about her life would surely drive her mad. Also, she slept in pillows _. Pillows_.

Malik said it was the year 1191, for the love of God. If she managed to survive this time (a fucking Leap of Faith being the _least_ of her problems), what would she do to return home? That is, assuming she even could.

And the dreams. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, she remembers them so vividly it scares her. They were mostly filled with blurred visions of strangers, people she never met. Hence, she spent most of the night time awake, resting her body, but not her mind.

 

If she started training to be able to put up a fight against Altaïr, now she didn’t know for certain why. Regardless, Stella kept training. Being able to defend herself wouldn’t be a bad thing in any situation, and simply being a woman in this time was life-threatening. So there she was, dripping in sweat, feeling her chest almost explode from the running session she had just finished.

Training intensively also did a great job in not letting Altaïr into her head. She couldn’t be more confused when it came to him. Yes, he was a prick, but at the same time, he seemed to be filled with guilt. Yes, she did want to give him a hard time for what he did to Malik, but it should be Malik’s fight, not hers. Somehow, she was trapped almost a thousand years back in time, and having someone as dangerous as Altaïr as her enemy wasn’t on top of her priorities in any possible way.

Then again just looking at his face made her lose control of her feelings, whatever she felt at the moment. She wanted to punch him. Hard. But other than the fact that she was never going to succeed at it (the guy was a former Master Assassin, _hello_ ), it broke her heart just thinking of his handsome face getting bruised.

She was a _mess_.

* * *

Stella was tired. She had already bathed, shortly after the training session ended. It was still very early to go to sleep, so she did what she did best and grabbed a book. Malik had already increased the level of her exercises, so she felt sore by the end of the day.

Altaïr had done his job killing Talal, of course, but it provided the proof Malik needed to shout at him; after all, he had walked right into Talal's ambush. It wasn't long until Altaïr started shouting back, and the fight made it impossible for Stella to focus on her reading.

She felt bad for them; their lives would be so much easier if the tension between them wore off. It filled Malik with rage, so dense Stella would have to wait hours before she could talk to him again. Still she understood, he had lost the only family he had left because of Altaïr's actions. It was not above his ability to forgive the lower-rank assassin, however, but only time would tell him that.

 

She could swear she was sitting there, reading, completely awake. However, when Altaïr entered her chamber that night, she certainly thought he was a vision.

Altaïr always wore the hidden blade on his wrist, but now, ready to go to bed, he didn’t have his other weapons with him. Even so, the hood he always wore made him look powerful and scary. She wasn't afraid of him, though. Something about him was deeply  _unsettling_ , she confessed, but another part made her feel like she was safe, secure.

Which obviously only made her more confused. And since being confused was always a part of being near Altaïr, she finally accepted that he was, in fact, in her chamber. He stood awkwardly by the door, his eyes in the ground while he thought of what to say. "I still need to apologize about the way I treated you that night." When he spoke, she blinked twice and rubbed her eyes, just to be sure.

She glanced at him, a little disappointed he wasn’t shirtless this time. Also grateful. She wouldn’t be able to think with clarity if he was. She cleared her throat.

Clearing her throat, she replied, "For a man so full of himself, you apologize too much."

His bright golden eyes looked at hers, and she felt dizzy. He sat in a pillow next to her and studied her face, looking for signs that he could read. "I am not full of myself." she chuckled, her sarcasm annoying him a little. After taking a deep breath, he admitted his defeat: "At least, not anymore. Not since I have lost my position in the brotherhood."

"It's good to know you have the decency of only being proud of what you accomplished." she said. It was his time to let out a small laugh.

They went silent for a moment, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt good, just being there by his side, listening only to the noise the water made in the fountain.

"The people that I kill keep saying strange things to me..." he said after a while, not sure how to continue. "About their goal."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"They call themselves the Templar Order. I don't know much about it, though they seem to aim for the greater good." Altaïr sighed. "But their actions are so wrong… Surely that's not possible? That the Templars want peace, when they are the ones who inflict chaos?"

She kept staring at his face while trying to think of an answer. She thought about the time she lived in, now so distant. “Every human has a different way of achieving what they desire, Altaïr. Have you tried asking your master about this? He must have answers."

"I… I'll try talking to him once I reach Masyaf."

"I'm sorry I can’t be of much help. Things in this time are still foreign to me."

"It's ok,” he said and laughed, shaking his head, "I don't even know why I told you all this. There's no way you have the answers I need."

She shrugged, feeling worthless. What would she tell him, anyway? She couldn't even understand _him_.

Trying to be useful, she looked for facts. "I can tell you one thing, though." she said, and those golden eyes were on hers again. "Searching for answers, seeking knowledge, apologizing… You're not the man Malik told me about."

He smiled. "Not anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the kudos. And the hits. And everything. Thanks a lot!


	4. Malik

It was nearly impossible to keep track of time, especially when she only focused on training. Clocks weren't invented yet, so she had to learn to see the hours by looking at her shadow. It was most confusing and upsetting, but eventually she got the hang of it.

A considerable long time had passed because now she was actually pretty decent in training. Malik was a very good teacher, coaching her through the exercises and weapon practice the assassins needed to do to graduate into the order. He was thankful for her advanced knowledge concerning the anatomy of the human body; the exercises involving the hidden blade were flawless.

With the throwing knifes, however, let's just say she almost killed Malik once-or-twice aiming at a completely different direction than the one he actually was.

And those dreams were still there. Tiring her every night, holding her back in exhaustion. Still, they were not as blurry as they were when they began, and that gave her a tiny bit of hope that she would actually come to understand them. However, a particular nightmare about the world fucking ending in meteors-and-fire-and-hell made her attempts of falling back to sleep fail completely. Then she went to Malik's chambers.

She called his name in a shy whisper, just checking if he was awake, not really wanting to interrupt his sleep. Seconds went by and Malik remained silent, just a silhouette among all those pillows. She called again.

Hearing his name again and again, Malik was eventually brought to conscience and opened his eyes. She was there, looking at him with sad puppy eyes, guilt all over her face. "Hey," he greeted. "Is there something wrong?"

His voice was rusty with sleep, but soft; and she sighed in relieve, for it was clear he wasn't mad at her. "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I... can't sleep."

Malik smiled at her and got up, wasting no time in getting into his robes, grabbing her hand and pushing her into the bureau's main chamber with him. Kadar used to go to him every time he had a nightmare, and Malik smiled at the memory, knowing exactly what to do. He was feeling too much like an older brother again, and the thought warmed his heart.

She grinned at him without understanding, but still letting herself be pushed by him. When they got to his desk, his smile had turned into a devilish grin, and he pointed at the various maps and books that were spread on the table. "If studying maps won't put you to sleep," he said, "Nothing will."

Stella laughed, not really believing _that_ was his cure for insomnia, just to be proven wrong. She didn't know how much time has passed when they were just there, sitting at the ground reading maps, Malik never leaving her side.

A yawn coming from her own mouth surprised her, making her realize she was sleepy. She chuckled at the proud smirk in his face. “I told you,” he bragged. “Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”

* * *

The next days went without change. She still trained like a cow and still had those nightmares, but none was unbearable, so she let Malik sleep in peace after that night.

One evening, they received word – well, Malik did – about the latest novice’s accomplishments: Altaïr had assassinated two more men, and if everything gone right, he should be arriving in Jerusalem soon. Malik mumbled, far from being happy.

 

_She didn't know what it was, but it felt like it emanated life, despite looking like an inanimate object. It also glowed, almost calling her, and it didn't stop when she touched it, only called stronger. She felt as if shock waves were traveling up and down her body, but it didn't make her uncomfortable. On the contrary, it made her feel powerful._

_Stella felt the voice more than listened to it. The whole situation was like nothing she ever experienced – and she did somehow manage to time travel, mind you -, and she did what was told. Walking a couple steps closer to the object, she grabbed and raised it towards the sky._

_Like being pulled at the ground, the object quickly fell in front of her. Startled, she stumbled back from it, and in that instant it shined more intensively, calling her name with rage and filling her with fear._

Malik was grabbing her shoulders and pulling her up while she screamed herself awake. Opening her eyes, she saw him; his eyebrows knitted together by worry.

“I’m sorry…” she began, with a guilty smile. “I didn't want to wake you.”

Malik saw when her smile faded away, leaving her face a little troubled. “Talk to me, Cousin.” He said, smiling a little at the word.

Regardless of the loud thump of her heart and her uneasy breathing, she knew she could trust him. And she told him everything. Since the beginning, all the foggy dreams she could remember since coming to that strange place and time. Malik listened carefully, without interrupting. Then she told him about tonight’s dream, by far the most frightening one she ever had.

The scary thing is that she couldn't say the dream was realistic or not because she didn't pay attention to anything that wasn't the glowing object. When she talked about it, however, Malik made her stop.

“Why would you dream about the Apple?” He whispered, his eyes no longer in hers.

“The apple?” she repeated. “Is that what that thing is called? Wait, Malik, you have seen it?”

He stared at her. The girl in front of him needed an explanation, and she had trusted him with her nightmares (and a strangely convincing story about how she came from the _future_ ) so it was only fair if he shared with her what he knew.

So he did. He spoke about the way he felt while carrying that chest, almost drawn to its power. But he didn't, due to simple blinding rage. That thing, the oh-so-great treasure of Solomon’s Temple, ended up costing him his arm and _his brother_. He also spoke about how he did blame Altaïr, the treasure, himself, his master, even his brother, for everything that happened that day.

Stella saw great pain in Malik’s eyes when he spoke about Kadar. Telling him it was enough, she gently embraced him in a hug and they remained that way for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't stop writing about Malik. He's so perfect *cries*  
> Also, next chapters are just plain Altaïr trash. Because we can.


	5. Novice

Going to Jerusalem was never a pleasant thing to do. The weather was unfairly unpredictable, the city held too much noise, and it was a long travel. This journey, however, had been particularly harsh; along with the traditional persecution by some random Templar’s guards, a bunch of thugs tried to kill him too. So Altaïr spent the rest of the day sleeping.

When the night arrived, he had woken up feeling his muscles still sore from the travel, tempted to just go back to sleep. He didn’t want to spend any more time than the necessary in Jerusalem, however, with Malik and Stella being two persons who left him extremely uncomfortable (for multiple reasons), so he decided to finish his mission as quickly as possible, leaving that same night to eavesdrop in the local inns.

* * *

It’s not that she was expecting some kind of greeting from him or anything. It was just that she found quite weird that he was avoiding her. She didn’t give him any reason, did she?

 _Yes, plenty_ , a voice in her mind told her, but she shushed it. She did, but that was before that oh-so-nice conversation they had before he left last time.

Stella sighed, rested the paper on the desk and left the main room, ignoring Malik’s questioning looks.

The girl was quite good at climbing up the fountain towards the bureau’s rooftop. It was easy to find peace there, having a clean view of the streets surrounding the building, watching life happening from a distance. There were, mysteriously, _no_ guards near the assassin’s bureau, and the thought put her mind at ease.

Feeling that way, relaxed, was when she mostly caught herself daydreaming about him. Although he never showed up when she was up there, the vision she had of him free-running in the rooftops towards her was almost too real, too easy to be held, with countless possible ways of ending pleasantly.

She coughed awkwardly, shaking her head in hope of scaring her thoughts away.

It didn’t work. She could tell it didn’t work by the way she was watching the white-hooded figure climbing and jumping the remaining rooftops until it reached the bureau. It was indeed a white-hooded figure, but it looked like it bathed in blood and gore. “Al-Altaïr?” was all that she could say.

He passed right through her with just a glance, entering the bureau through the open roof without any explanation. She followed. “What happened?” she tried again, “Are you hurt?”

“No.” he said, but the sound almost didn’t reach her, for he did not have the trouble of turning around to face her. She stopped following when it was clear that he was heading towards the bathroom, and shook her head. “Thank you for your concern, Stella. Oh, you’re welcome.” She theatrically said, then snorted.

“I do not understand why you bother.” Malik said, motioning at the door Altaïr had just stormed through. Stella snorted. She was almost into the Brotherhood of Assassins now; it was the time to focus on herself, her visions, and what the hell would she do to get out of this place. Leaving things awkward with Altaïr had put too much worry on her mind, and she wanted that to end. Ignoring that she thought about him more than recommended, she just wished to be friends. But this guy… This guy was too difficult to even befriend.

* * *

Altaïr showed up in bureau's main room days after, receiving an uninterested look from the Dai. "Jerusalem needs a new ruler." he said, and Malik nodded.

"So it seems."

"What's this? No words of wisdom for me? Surely I have failed in some spectacular fashion." Altaïr teased, smirking.

"You performed as an Assassin should, no more, no less." Malik explained. "That you except praise for merely doing as told, however, troubles me."

Altaïr snorted, showing Malik the gory feather. "It seems everything I do troubles you."

"Reflect on that." Malik replied with a smirk and was given a scowl. "But do so in your way to Masyaf."

"I'll leave first thing tomorrow." Altaïr said, motioning towards the guest chamber, where he rested.

"One more thing," the Dai spoke again, forcing the other man to turn around and look at him. "Stella finished her training with me. You are to take her back to Masyaf safe."

"What am I, a babysitter now?"

"Ah. You might have improved in ranks once again, but you're still a Novice in mind." Malik said, trying (and failing) to put on a serious face.

"Very well." Altaïr agreed after seconds well spent cursing Malik in his thoughts. "But if she's not ready by then, I'm leaving without her."

* * *

There was no logical reason for Altaïr to be mad at her. So he wasn’t. Instead, he was mad at himself. Being moody was an unfortunate side-effect, making it difficult for everyone to bear his already volatile temper.

He was filling up his travel satchel with supplies, wanting to scream in frustration instead. _No, no, no_! Why did she have to go with him? Now, that he was back on track to being a Master Assassin again. Now, that he had killed six of the nine targets assigned to him: Why did she have to be here still, clouding his thoughts, filling his mind with these infuriating daydreams?

And the way they just _didn’t_ go away, no matter what he did. He had even… hell, he had even touched himself to the mere memory he had of her from the day they met, how her sleeping tunic was unacceptably revealing her body to him. It seemed logical at the time; she was attractive, he was lonely and frustrated, and relieving himself would put an end to it and he would forget her name in the next morning. Ah, if only.

It got worse from there, the action only forcing him to admit he desired her, a stain in his plans of being above these ridiculous human needs and feelings. And now he had to travel with her. And live with her, too, for she was moving in to the Assassin’s fortress in Masyaf. Altaïr sighed. He was in trouble.

“Are you ready?” hearing her voice made him jump in place, startled, and when Altaïr turned around to see her, she was poorly holding a laugh. Damn her.

He nodded, mounting his horse. All settled, he looked at her with a silent question in his eyes. “I… Don’t know how to ride one.” Stella said awkwardly, pointing vaguely at his horse.

“ _What?_ How don’t you know how to ride a horse?”

“We don’t have those in my time,” she explained, blushing, “I mean, we _have_ horses, but they’re not used as common transportation anymore.”

“And you just…” Altaïr took a deep breath, “You just forgot to mention that to Malik? You know, the guy responsible for your _training_?”

“I…” she snorted. Riding lessons were never a part of the schedule. “Look, point is, I don’t know how to ride a horse. So just, you know, move over.” Stella was already attaching her satchel to the side of his horse and lifting her hand so Altaïr could help her mount. They glared at each other before Altaïr grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “Ow!”

 

There was no denying her fear of falling off the horse. That was clear because of the way she was holding Altaïr, almost crushing his ribs in her desperate embrace the whole time. She realized she needed to calm down and began to breathe slowly, her chin resting in his shoulder.

It wasn’t doing him any good, though. The hot waves of her breath were torturing him, hovering over his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Her grasp was tight around his waist, and with every gallop, her hands brushed over his thigh. Every single thing she was doing made his groin _ache_ in want, and he swore he could feel her breasts rubbing his back even through the many layers of cloth between them.

Altaïr needed to do something. Quick. “Let’s set camp.”

“Alright.” Stella sighed, relieved. They stopped where she could call the middle of nowhere; but the chunks of grass here and there seemed dry, therefore making a good spot to sleep on. The smell of dirt and grass was rather unfamiliar to her, but she had smelled far worse, both here and in her time, so it didn’t bother her.

Actually, getting away from Altaïr was the only thing she cared about in that moment. She could swear she felt her tongue _tickling_ at the sight of his muscled back and neck barely protected by the thin mantle he wore for traveling (why in the heavens it was thin? All that wind up her face in the back of a very fast horse made her chilly with cold). She coughed awkwardly while trying to hide a laugh when she got down from the horse; she never imagined Altaïr would be in literal danger of being attacked _by her_.

The way he felt in her hands didn’t help either. He was always so unfairly _warm_ , almost as if he was mocking her. To be honest, everything about the way Altaïr looked was unfair. She was just a poor woman who didn’t have much control over her thoughts, much less the ones filled with lust, but his muscled, firm body, the unbelievable width of his arms, for goodness sake, even the way he smelled (well, scratch the times he smelled like blood)… Hell, even his glares. His death glares, those ones that showed his angry and almost uncontrollable rage, God, she loved them. The way he clenched his very, very strong fists, to the point where his knuckles turned white whenever somebody made fun of him, whether it was she or Malik… Everything he did was alluring, unfairly so, and made him easy prey to her daydreams.

She blinked, once, twice, before shaking her head to scare the thoughts away. Where did the cold had gone? Her eyes widened when she realized her heart was beating faster. Damn you, Altaïr… She wanted to give him a scowl just out of frustration with herself. If that even made sense.

She regretted it the instant she saw him. Or did she?

Apparently she was not the only one feeling rather warm because the guy was freaking _stripping_ out of his mantle and the way the muscles on his back were flexing and little by little revealing themselves to her eye made her gasp. _Gasp_. God, she was so stupid.

Why was he doing that to her? He was already in grave danger of being sexually assaulted while sleeping, I kid you not, but undressing in front of her? Jeez, it was like _he was asking for it_.

She let out a ridiculous breathless laugh. It was so amusing that she didn’t go mad about all this time travel business. No, the only problem was just that there was a man in this age that caused her to think like a rapist. _All good, then_. She kept laughing at how pathetic she acted.

By the time she shushed her stupid brain, Altaïr had turned and was looking at her like she was crazy. She could feel her cheeks redden, but then she thought about how it all looked to him.

_Huh. What about that, Altaïr? I bet you never made a girl laugh by stripping._


	6. Aquila

The nightmares made Stella afraid of sleeping. But when you spend _hours_ in the back of a horse, you don’t really care about anything but rest.

Obviously, _thank you Murphy_ , she couldn’t sleep. She wanted to, but she also wanted to bang her head against a wall.

It was cold, you see, and the persistent wind drew shivers from her, but it also provided her with forbidden thoughts, the kind she would never ever have in other circumstances. _Pff, right_.

She was lying on her bedroll and Altaïr was sitting by her feet, the heat she felt coming up from him was both insufficient and inviting. All that was going through her mind that moment was to rub herself against his unfairly warm body. Not good.

She twisted around on the bedroll, uncomfortable.

“Would you _please_ go to sleep.” She heard a frustrated groan and a low voice.

Stella sighed, turned to face Altaïr and pouted. “I’m cold.” She explained, feeling childish.

“So?” Of course he chose to make fun of her, instead of saying _here, come closer to me_ like she wanted. “If you stopped shifting so much, you wouldn’t be cold.”

“But the wind makes me uncomfortable!” she complained, her voice high-pitched.

He groaned. _Stop making those sexy noises around me, you fucker_. “Go to sleep!” He almost shouted, and she winced at the aggressive tone of his voice.

She sighed. There was something really, really wrong with her. Something that began with her calmness in a time-travel situation and ended up with feeling attracted to a man who possibly wanted to kill her.

* * *

Stella snorted, feeling kind of pissed because she wasn’t asleep yet. Not because of the cold anymore, though.

Altaïr was still there, sitting next to her legs, and she didn’t need to look at him to know, she could _feel_ him. Given time, he made her warm. In more ways than it was acceptable.

He shot a sideways glance towards her and a controlled sound of incredulousness came out of his mouth when he saw that her eyes were still open. “How you can be so impossibly frustrating is beyond me.”

“I try my best,” she answered giggling. “You can sleep, Altaïr. I’ll stand watch.”

“Do you even know how to do that?” Oh, now he was talking slowly to her, probably trying to make her understand each word of his mean-spirited mouth, but to her it only seemed like he was purring.

“Better than you.” Her words were spoken defiantly, and Altaïr delighted her with one of his death glares. Of course, she did not have a single clue of what she was doing – like always –, but her ultimate goal was to take off that aura of superiority that seemed to be forever around him. Had she known that time it was merely a defense mechanism...

“Shut up,” he said, the side of his lip lifting up in a side smirk.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Did the grumpiest assassin ever just joke with her?

Altaïr must have seen the look on her face because he blushed, looking away. Stella let out a low chuckle, standing up and tapping his knee slightly before motioning towards the bedroll. “Seriously, you can go to sleep.”

Not waiting for an answer, she began to stretch, her muscles already protesting the few hours lying awkwardly in the bedroll. Glancing back at Altaïr (just to bother him again in case he hadn’t moved yet), she became speechless.

His lips were parted just slightly, but his eyes had darkened and he was looking overall _dangerous._ He was staring at her like she was a pray, a _target_ , and it never felt more exciting. Her mouth was suddenly dry and a feeling of impotence was spreading through her body, making it impossible to move.

And just like that it was gone; Altaïr had turned his face and cleared his throat before saying, “It’s ok, I’m not tired.”

She blinked, letting go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding. _What the fuck just happened?_

Stella shook her head, and in an act that could be described as bold or just plain stupid, she got down and sat by his side. “Neither am I,” she stated, smiling weakly at him.

He glared at her, unamused. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“Why are you sitting next to me?”

“Ah,” she said, pretending delight, “There’s the asshole Altaïr we all know and love.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

* * *

“Don’t you wish stars shined brighter?”

Stella jumped, startled; she was almost sleeping when he spoke again. Shaking her head to try and think more clearly, she noticed they were still sitting side by side. The small fire Altaïr had built some hours before had already been extinguished, with only a thin line of smoke coming from it. The full moon, however, provided all the light she needed.

Altaïr was staring at the sky, somewhat distant. Because he was looking up, his hood had fallen back a little, and more of his face was visible to her. His jaw was large, strong, his nose straight, and his bottom lip was fuller than his upper lip. She got distracted by his beauty too easily, and cursed herself when he caught her staring. Stella felt her cheeks get hotter.

She shrugged, not really having an answer for the question. Just when she was drifting back to sleep, an idea popped in her head. “Hey,” she called him, pointing up, “Do you see that?”

“See what?” he asked, looking up to the sky.

“Those stars, there,” she said, drawing in the air with her fingers, “That’s the Aquila constellation. The one that kind of looks like… an eagle.”

After a minute looking he found the group of stars, distant from the others and quite distinguishable, “Oh, I see. That’s one hell of a bright star in the middle.”

Stella laughed, and he looked at her without understanding. “Yeah, well. Guess its name.”

“ _What_? How could I know?”

She continued to laugh, amazed by the whole situation.

“It’s Altair.”

He glared at her.

"What?” she asked with a wide smile, “I’m–I’m serious.”

“You expect me to believe the name of the brightest star of an eagle constellation is called Altaïr?”

“Yes!” she whined, “Trust me, it is.”

He continued to glare at her for a moment before sighing. “That’s… odd,” Altaïr looked up to the sky again, “Do you know why the eagle is the animal symbol of the Assassins?”

“Because you insistently keep climbing up until you reach a poor eagle’s nest?”

He laughed, “No. Well, it could be. But it’s mostly because of the nature of our job. Tracking targets, killing silently… like a bird of prey.”

“And Altaïr’s in the center of it all,” she joked.

He didn’t say a word for several seconds.

“I thought I was,” he confessed. “After losing it all, though, I began to see… it’s not like that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely interested. This was not the same guy she had seen talking to Malik so many times.

“I’m-I’m trying so hard to understand the Templars. Every guy I kill truly believes in their cause, that they’re doing the right thing and the world will benefit from their actions,” he paused, breathing in. “It doesn’t seem that way to me, but… I have to understand them to fight them. How do you win a fight against something you know nothing about?”

“Oh. _Oh_. My God, I wish I had a camera with me right now.”

“What’s a camera?” Altaïr asked, and _was he really pouting?_

“It-it’s a… recording device. But the point is: Malik would be so proud of you!”

His face turned dull. “Malik will never be anything besides hateful towards me, rightfully so.”

She frowned. “Altaïr–“

“Anyway,” he interrupted her, faking a smile, “You should get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting long... It's totally Altaïr's fault, not mine, though.  
> Also, please... feedback. I have no idea what I'm doing. Sorry.


	7. Attack

Later that night, when the time came for them to trade places - Stella would keep guard and the assassin would finally have some hours to sleep -, Altaïr arranged his bedroll right next to hers.

The long ride and the mental effort of staying awake during watch hours had drained him, so there he was, sleeping without effort.

Stella was the one supposed to keep guard because Altaïr had insisted to (God knows the roads are dangerous these days, he’d said, with the threat of Salah Ad-Din's army and all). She was lying down as well, a little awkwardly, her limbs stretched out abruptly from when she fell in the bedroll from her previous sitting _awaken_ stance.

 

That was when the bandits came in.

It was a group - four of them. They were not poorly equipped - two had iron swords and the other two carried sheathed daggers - but weren't properly armored. They all dressed like commoners, cotton and linen being their only protection.

One of them unsheathed his dagger while walking towards the two bodies asleep in bedrolls. The hooded man looked dangerous, so the bandit silently shushed his partners when they started laughing at the sight of all the provisions they could steal, and approached the woman. Then he saw it.

The jewel was discreet, he'd give her that, but the deep green stone in the center of the necklace shined in the moonlight like nothing he had ever seen. Shooting a glance to the other bandits, he noticed no one was paying attention to what he was doing - and God he wouldn't have to share the money from the necklace! - so he made a decision. The man lifted his arm and drew closer and closer to her neck until his hand had a safe grasp on the necklace, and he was going to pull it-

He looked up one second before pulling the necklace away.

And saw her eyes.

Eyes widened in terror, the woman screamed. The hooded man behind her got up in a second, and that was when it all went downhill.

 

The adrenaline invaded her body in a matter of seconds, and watching Altaïr trigger the hidden blade into the throat of the thief right in front of her - while he still had his hand in her neck - made every drop of fear turn into pure energy. Staying still was doing no good, so she grabbed the dagger laying on the ground and chased after the two fleeing men while Altaïr ran towards another.

She reached the slower man, slightly behind the other, quickly grabbing his shoulder to lock him in place. Shouting with rage, she sliced a wound in his back. The man screamed in pain before turning around trying to cup the injury with both hands, but blood was already drenching his shirt and dripping off the wound to the grass below.

Stella saw the other man turning around already wielding a sword, before he ran in her direction. She realized she was quivering when she looked at him, his eyes enraged, his forehead already glistening with sweat.

She felt the need to curse, seeing she wasted the element of surprise in a weaker opponent and was, now, at disadvantage. The sword grasped forcefully by the man was a lot longer than her dagger, and she wouldn't be able to attack before he struck a blow at her and, being optimistic, cut her arm off.

He swung his sword nonstop, overwhelming her in cuts, proving his attacks even faster than his legs. Her heart rate got unbelievable higher and she inflamed her nostrils trying to catch more air into her burning lungs. Stella changed to a defensive stance Malik taught her, trying to defend herself against the quick assaults.

It didn't work that well.

She had cuts through all the length of her front, but mainly on her hands, where the blood made it difficult to wield the dagger properly. The man, however, didn't fight as well as she assumed, trying to make her drop her blade instead of using the advantage of a longer weapon to strike her with a killing blow.

He had stabbed her, hurt her, made her panic, yet she was alive. And if pain was proof, the sharp one she felt spreading through her middle finger made her pretty sure he had just sliced her nail off.

Stella may or may not have heard someone yelling her name before a sharp sting of pain in her shoulder had her screaming, and the man in front of her becoming suddenly still. She was hearing the thump of her heartbeats so loud in her ears it made her dizzy.

Shaking her head, she watched the thief as he fell to his knees with a red stain spreading through his clothes. Gasping, she saw a knife plunged into his stomach.

Trembling from head to toe, Stella turned around to see Altaïr.

"Are you crazy!?" He shouted, throwing his arms at the air in frustration. "HOW could you do this?"

Stella snorted. _Of course_.

"I'm sorry that I fell asleep and put your life in danger, ok," she said, "But look – you’re fine! You're a master assassin, for God's sake."

"What are you– Do you think– You think it's about me?" He continued to yell at her, cutting sentences out of desperation, "You could have been killed!"

She just stood there, glaring at him in disbelief. All the smart responses she had for him, gone in a moment. The guy was desperate. And the reason was _her_ well-being?

She tried to hide a gasp when he grabbed both her arms roughly and stared at her so intensively that she tightened her muscles unwillingly. They stood there, looking at each other's eyes, his gaze enraged, hers widened in shock.

Stella exhaled after what seemed years, and had to look away from his eyes to make her voice work again.

"You do know Malik actually trained me, right? I may be dumb but I can fight. Against commoners, at least."

He grunted and shook her. “You saw a bandit and _screamed_. Very professional of you, Assassin.”

She had a sarcastic answer so powerful it would make him tremble, but the opening of his mouth caught her gaze and she forgot about everything. Stella licked her lips, dazed off, and Altaïr slid his hands down to catch hers.

He gasped, taking a step back and bringing her hands upwards.

"It's just blood..."

“Don’t even start-“ Altaïr paused, took a deep breath and scowled at her, who laughed briefly. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he continued, “Come here, let’s take care of that.”

 

Her hands were in pretty bad shape from the fight – the quick sword cuts she suffered were non-lethal but she was hurt nonetheless. Grabbing anything would be a bother for the days to come, but thankfully the cut at her shoulder wasn’t deep. Having Altaïr patch her up and treat her gently because of her injuries was a nice change, if not a little unsettling, when those calloused, firm hands of his started touching all the length of her back and her arms for the proper stitching to occur.

It hurt like hell, though. Stella decided that eventually she was going to have to toughen up, as she was to become an Assassin. And what better day to do it than the day after being attacked and hurt? Well, it seemed like a good plan, at least. It left her wondering if Altaïr would be impressed.

If sounded easier in her head. Instead of being tough and impressive, she was driving her poor companion crazy with all the whining about not being able to use her hands and oh how her shoulder _hurt_. She could say that, at the very least, Altaïr was not amused.

Not that watching stars and being attacked by thugs didn’t help they bond – on the contrary, Altaïr was being almost sweet, she dared say, and she was trying (although failing) not to be a pain in his ass.

When they first set foot inside the gates Masyaf, both let out a sigh of relief. It meant _home_ now, one way or another.


	8. Author's Note

Hi.

I'm getting back with this project. I'm going to keep writing this fanfic. It's been two years and Altaïr is still pretty much the love of my life and so is writing. 

University happened, and I'm not going to return full throttle to it but I'll return nonetheless. Thank you so much for everyone who took their time to read it.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic ever posted. I accept suggestions and pretty much everything you feel like throwing at me. I'm in the dark here so, please, feedback. And you can find me in my [tumblr](http://theloveisnolongerinbloom.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
